


That's life

by GreyPigeon



Series: Godspeed You! Blue Emperor [1]
Category: Persona 5
Genre: Abuse, Angst and Romance, Bad Parenting, Bondage, Child Neglect, Coercion, Dubious Consent, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Manipulation, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Gags, Hurt/Comfort, Japanese Rope Bondage, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Non-Consensual, Non-Consensual Touching, Nude Modeling, Nude Photos, Shibari, Stockholm Syndrome, Suspension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-23
Updated: 2020-04-23
Packaged: 2021-03-02 01:41:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 2
Words: 15,026
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23807056
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GreyPigeon/pseuds/GreyPigeon
Summary: Yusuke is pressured by Madarame into a nude bondage modeling session. The event is held in the private art academy, and so it happens a merry trio of Shujin guy friends attend said session, convinced they will be able to admire naked girls and have unreasonable amount of fun doing so. A slight AU where Ren and Yusuke meet before Madarame arc, (or do they...?) and where Ren Amamiya decides to save someone's life.
Relationships: Amamiya Ren/Kitagawa Yusuke, Kitagawa Yusuke/Kurusu Akira, Kitagawa Yusuke/Persona 5 Protagonist
Series: Godspeed You! Blue Emperor [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1743862
Comments: 14
Kudos: 97





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello everyone! This is just a one-shot, which may or may not turn into a series of one-shots, though I think it may be the case, given how smitten I am with Persona 5 Royal and my fav ship ;) I hope someone finds it pleasing. This fic is just a small break in my Castlevania adventures. I will definitely continue healing Alucard over there. But I'm fresh after Madarame arc and wanted to give some love to the lobster boi as well.
> 
> Note on names: I really liked the Persona 5 Animation, so I am using Ren Amamiya instead of Akira Kurusu here - but it's just a preference. 
> 
> Disclaimer: I don't own Persona 5, don't earn anything in the franchise.  
> Disclaimer for logical purposes: I do not really know how shibari models work, I do not assume to know. I can only base on my own scarce experience of how can it feel. Don't yell at me if something there doesn't add up ;) Also, the whole premise is slightly nonsensical if you give it a longer thought, so maybe don't and just enjoy the show.
> 
> Now then... Strip!

**~*~**

“Mishima, buddy…! If all that comes true, I’m gonna buy you sweets and soda and shit and carry your bag for you everyday for five years straight,” Ryuji pratted on, bouncing his knee super nervously and grinning in excitement. Other passengers on the train gave him questioning, vaguely annoyed looks of superiority, but Mishima lit up in a smile like a lantern.

“Careful what you promise,” Ren smirked, elbowing Ryuji. “I have a feeling he will actually deliver today! You’ll be stuck doing chores from today on.”

“If we even get in there, that is,” Mishima fumbled the envelope with the invitations nervously. “I hope they won’t be checking ID’s...”

“Don’t lose your shit. It’s an art school, not a pub.” Ryuji was fidgeting so much that Ren could swear he’s gonna fly off his seat any minute. “We have invites, we’re dressed the part, we’ll get in.”

Ren snickered. “*We* are dressed the part. You look like a pimp.”

“F’real?!”

“Yeah… lose the hat, Ryuji,” Mishima advised, grimacing as he glanced at his friend over Ren’s shoulder. “Looks weird.”

“Makes me look older!”

“Not so sure,” Ren laughed. “A punk in a fedora is just plain weird. Why couldn’t you wear a shirt for once?”

“Oh buzz off, you nerds. It’s an artistic circle and such, the weirder I look, the better.”

Mishima had a serious doubt written all over his face. Ren shook his head with a smile; he knew full well that if their chances to getting into the nude drawing workshop will be forfeit because of Ryuji’s distorted sense of fashion, Mishima will never, ever forgive him. He worked so hard to get the invites; when his cousin, who was in the private art academy, told him about the workshop taking place, Mishima toiled in grime just to get them access, acting like his personal slave for two weeks straight. The wet dream of beautiful, naked girls just sitting there for others to draw them was the only thing keeping him going. That, and the coffee cans which Ren was slipping into his bag every morning in school.

“I have one question, though,” Ryuji whispered conspiratorially. “What the hell is shibari?”

Mishima and Ren both gave him an incredulous look, shocked, but bordering on pity.

“You didn’t even check it…?” Yuuki asked, dumbfounded. 

“Bro, how are you even alive? What if it’s not your thing?” Ren smacked his friend in the forehead. “Anyway, you cannot back out now!”

“I’m not! Just tell me what it is, geez!” Ryuji kicked Ren in the shin. 

“It’s… it’s bondage,” Mishima whispered, shooting a panicked sweeping look through their compartment, but thankfully no one was standing close to them or seemed to pay close attention to the three rowdy boys. “Like, artistic. They knot the ropes in various patterns and sometimes it involves bamboo sticks, suspensions, this sort of thing. It’s pretty complicated, like, traditional and all, stemming from the Edo period.”

Ryuji went fiery red in the span of three seconds. Ren didn’t know whether to burst in laughter first or make fun of Mishima for being a good boy and doing his homework, but Ryuji tugged at his sleeve impatiently, so he had to lean in.

“So it means that the girls will be… tied up for the posing?” He swallowed loudly.

“Quiet, you moron,” Ren glanced around again. “Yes! You chickening out?”

“No way, dude,” Ryuji said, his eyes going wide and his face lightening up in realization. “Man… no way. No way.”

Ren felt an involuntary, idiotic smile tug at the corners of his lips. Ryuji was so oblivious, and he was probably so worked up right now that he might get blue balls before even arriving at their destination. 

This was probably ending in a disaster, the three of them landing down on their horny asses when kicked out of the 18+ workshop, but it was still worth a try; Mishima had been so giddy, so excited to hand the invites to them, calling them his friends and ‘partners in crime’. Sakamoto followed up naturally; he would blindly agree to any crazy idea Ren mentioned just for the heck of it, especially when it involved breaking the rules, or thinking with his other head; and Ren… well, Ren Amamiya was just a randy teenager himself. He just wanted to go.

They got out of the train on Shibuya station, a sweaty mess of hormones and laughter, and made their way to the academy, still arguing about Ryuji’s hat and making plans for what they are going to go afterwards, where they would go to eat. Ren could stay out a bit longer; Sojiro told him there is no curfew, which made Ren loosen up a little as it meant that the Boss was starting to warm up to him. And next day was Sunday, which meant sleeping in and a full day off.

The reasons to celebrate were plenty. They have successfully dealt with Kamoshida, emerging victorious from a seriously dangerous situation and forming an accidental, but pretty strong friendship, their peculiar little group. The boys naturally stuck together like glue and it was visibly changing their lives for the better. Amamiya was still uncertain of his footing in this huge city and the toll of his process and probation had been bigger than he dared to admit to anyone. Being around friends made him feel normal again. Sakamoto had a disturbing past, and a great future as an athlete taken away from him by spiteful adults. For him any occasion to unwind, forget and feel wanted, or indeed worthy of friendship, was like a fly catch. He followed with loyalty that almost scared Ren sometimes. And Mishima… well, Mishima’s bruises have just started to fade away. 

Ren had been able to vaguely imagine that he would be going out or spending time with them both in and out of school, whine about classes and teachers or occasionally jump to the cinema together for a horror movie; what he had been absolutely unable to fathom was the reality of it - pulling off idiotic stunts like calling the maid service with these two, saving each other’s lives and futures or indeed standing up for the true justice as a group of vigilantes. (And one fandom manager.) 

Life was being kind for once; Ren Amamiya was happy. 

**~*~**

A group of about twenty people gathered at the entrance of the classroom, where the workshop was supposed to take place. People of different ages, various attires; one could easily say they are all artists, carrying around notebooks, canvas, bags full of art supplies and all sorts of fancy cameras one could ask for. Some were holding retro-style cameras in leather cases with spare rolls of film in them, some were boasting with the newest Canon and a set of badass lenses. Very few girls; that worried Ryuji a little. But the models are probably gonna show up seperately, he ascertained his friends with a devilish look in the eye. Ren raised his eyes to the ceiling and shook his head.

Standing apart from the chattering group of students was one boy. He caught Ren’s attention immediately, because he wasn’t holding anything - not even a decoy sketchbook, like him and Mishima. He was leaning against the wall, not speaking to anyone, eyes trained on the floor and his hands wrapped around his middle. 

He was very tall, Ren noted. He could be easily classified as eye-catching, if not for the deep frown he was wearing, which made him look stern and somehow unapproachable; his lips were pressed tight in a thin line. His clothing was a little weird, as if mismatched and more than a tad outdated, clearly second-hand. It was also used up a fair bit, the grayish jacket he had on and a T-shirt underneath had seen better days. He was also a bit too thin for Ren’s liking; limbs long and stick-like. But his hair was nice; it fell down his neck with a navy sheen, framing his face with two asymmetrical halves, a few fickle strands covering his left eye a bit.

Ren was curious; nobody seemed to want to approach the boy, as if he was completely invisible to the group. An outsider. Was he here for the workshop too?

Ryuji kept fidgeting, but he didn’t manage to complain about the absence of models again as Mishima pulled his sleeve to turn his attention to a lively man in his forties, approaching the group briskly, carrying two sports bags filled with some kind of gear. 

“Welcome, welcome!” The man called, putting the bags on the floor and opening the double classroom doors with a set of keys. “Please, come on in. We will begin momentarily!”

The boys exchanged excited looks and jumped in after everybody. 

The classroom looked like a rehearsal place for the theatre group, as there was a small podium at the front, creating sort of a low scene, and two brown curtains framing it; must have been a place for the local acting club. In front of the scene there were only two rows of seats, precisely for the number of the workshop participants; the boys quickly took three seats next to each other furthest at the back, and pretended to be busy with unfolding their sketchbooks and whatnot.

Ren noticed that the strange boy from earlier carried the two heavy bags inside, closing the door behind him and diligently bringing the luggage to the front, where the teacher was busy next to a small desk. He was starting up his laptop and preparing the camera, firing up the lights above the scene and adjusting the level of brightness. The man reached for the bags and said something to the boy quickly; he nodded and disappeared at the edge of the scene, behind one of the curtains. 

“No girls…?” Ryuji whispered. “Man, what’s going on…?”

“He didn’t check the invites,” Mishima squealed.

“Shuddup guys,” Ren whispered. 

Couple of minutes more and the students settled, all prepared and collected. The strange boy emerged again. Barefoot and dressed in a simple white cotton yukata, tied at his waist like a bathrobe.

“Now then!” The teacher turned to the class. “Let us begin today’s workshop, I am pleased to see all of the spots taken and some new faces along with the regular attendees,” he smirked. “It’s nice to see you all. For those who do not yet know me, I am Kobei Nobuo, an art tutor, photographer by trade and a shibari instructor. This here is our model for today, everybody please meet Yusuke.”

The boy bent low in a respectful greeting. A couple of voices murmured something back. Ren frowned; from where he was sitting he could clearly see a tremble to the model’s lean frame. 

“Needless to say, with this kind of modelling everything needs to be discussed beforehand and agreed upon, so everything you’ll see today is safe and consented to. Just in case someone gets worried.” Kobei smirked, putting a wide, big hand on the model’s shoulder; the boy jumped slightly. 

“We shall be focusing on kinbaku, often referred to as shibari, which is a traditional art of constricting the body with means of knotted ropes,” the instructor continued. “Today’s workshop will cover a little theory in approach to erotic photography, capturing a live model in a studio environment, intricacies of lighting and contrast in regard to skin tones and skin markings, indeed treating the precisely staged human body as canvas for the patterns left by ropes and devices. That, and how we can use that occurring contrast to the greatest effect on the photos.” The teacher made a swift move to reach for one of the bags and take out a coil of thick, long hemp rope out of it. 

There was no mistake in this. The youth was trembling. Kobei paid no attention, attaching the rope to a round hook hanging above them; Ren noticed that there was a whole rig up there, probably for changing the scenography or hanging decorations during performances. 

“The theory will be illustrated in practice, with me showing all that on the model, and towards the end of the first part of the workshop all of you will have a chance to give it a try and photograph him yourselves. If you’re here to sketch poses and do a subject study, that’s perfectly fine; just find the spot you like and remain in your seat once you do. The more freedom of movement for the photographer, the better, that’s why you’re going to come up one by one. Then we’re going to have a half-an-hour break, followed by another forty minutes or so for re-doing any of the pictures or finishing up your sketches, and I guess… that will be the gist of it.” He finished in a tone which indicated he is quite pleased with himself and the plan. 

Ren kept watching the boy. He was fumbling with the edge of his sleeve nervously.

“Oh, and keep in mind that the focus of this workshop is ‘body as canvas’, the body itself rather than the face; for the reason of our model’s comfort try to avoid capturing his face, be respectful of where you display your work, and we are also going to use some devices to be able to mask his identity a little. That will also give your photos a good opportunity to capture mystery and subtext.”

Kobei spread a grey blanket on the floor directly underneath the hook and made a commanding gesture for the youth to come closer. 

“Alright! Everybody on the same page? All of you know what we’ll be doing today? Good. In that case, without further ado. The setup will take a while. Yusuke?”

The class murmured quietly as the youth stepped forward on the blanket and reached with shaking hands to undo the strap around his waist and take the yukata off. Ren felt a very familiar, uneasy feeling in his stomach; something was off. Way off.

“Wait… what?” Mishima gasped next to him. “This was not… going to be that way.”

“Excuse me,” Ren whispered to an unknown student next to him. “Are there going to be any other models today too?” 

“No, just him,” the student in round glasses told him quietly. “It’s a study of male body this time. Didn’t you read the leaflet?”

“...The leaflet?” Ren turned to Mishima, who was going pale and red in turns.

“M-my cousin never showed me any leaflet!...” he mewled, shooting panicked glances to Ren and Ryuji. Sakamoto facepalmed.

“Mishima, you idiot,” he hissed. “He totally set you up for this!”

“Just be quiet,” Amamiya hushed them, doing his best to hide behind the empty sketchbook. 

There was really no stopping it now, as they couldn’t just leave without turning all of the attention to themselves. Ruyji bent in half on the chair, committing to an in-depth study of his shoes; Mishima was literally on fire, Ren was quite sure he could fry an egg on his forehead if he tried. 

Ren’s stomach clenched, but in the same time he could not stop watching. 

The youth stood there, completely naked, with his head low and eyes carefully avoiding everybody. The teacher reached with both hands to his shoulders and turned him non-too gently so that he stood with his back to him. Grabbing both his elbows behind his back, he took a thin length of rope and looped it around the joints a couple of times, then pulled to cinch and tie the elbows together. The boy had to straighten his back to the extreme to allow for this, his chest arching up, head falling slightly backwards and exposing the lean neck. Ren grimaced. He could imagine that this tie would be extremely uncomfortable in the long run. 

The rope was tied quickly below his elbows too for additional security, and around his wrists; then Kobei turned the model around to face the class, took another length of rope, folded it in half and made a small, secure knot a couple of inches below the fold, creating a noose. 

Ren twitched as he beheld anxiety written all over the face of the model, who was following Kobei’s every move. He was simply scared. It certainly didn’t help that the instructor wasn’t saying anything; he didn’t try to maintain eye contact, he didn’t make sure the ropes are not too tight. He wasn’t trying to crack a joke or speak to his model at all to make him feel more at ease.

The noose went over the boy’s head to rest on his nape, as the rope fell down his chest. Kobei started to wrap it down, around his body, creating more knots as he went, pulling ends of the rope through in a way which created diamond shapes down his chest down to his navel and a row of knots at the back, under his hands. With additional ropes he created a thick belt and wrapped it around the model’s waist and across his chest, then trapped the model’s leg at the joint of his hip and groin in a swing, and connected all of the ropes to the elbow-tie. With quick, matter-of fact sentences he explained how that will serve as a basis for the suspension. 

With the little understanding that Ren had of this, the boy would be hanging on several ropes, which would uphold him in the middle, through the chest, in his groin and by his elbows. Seemed like a lot of points to distribute the weight, and in fact the whole body of the model was covered in a net of criss-crossing, knotted ropes, but Ren was aware that once the pressure of a hanging weight will be put on those trapped, taut shoulders in an elbow tie, it will be a torture. He was vaguely aware of reading about this in the past; how was it called?...A strappado…? 

Ren sought out the youth’s face. There was a stressed, pained frown there, and even if he made no protest, almost no sound at all, Ren could tell. It wasn’t okay. He was straight up not having a good time. 

“This is horrible,” Mishima whispered next to him. “That is supposed to be artistic…?”

Ryuji looked like he was about to puke.

Kobei went back to the desk to retrieve something and the model just stood there, shivering, bent over in the uncomfortable position, as the ropes connecting his elbows to his groin were pulled short and forced him to lean down. He dared to cast a glance after the teacher, and as he saw him coming back, an involuntary gasp of surprise tore from his throat. This was not practiced. As Kobei wrapped a piece of black fabric over his eyes, the boy tensed up like a string; when he was ordered to open his mouth and a black ball gag was thrust in between his lips, he made a more audible sound of protest and took a step back, trying to retreat.

“It’s okay, Yusuke, don’t worry, I won’t make it too tight,” Kobei said nonchalantly, keeping him still with a wide hand at the back of his head. “Right, that is an important aspect as well; no matter how grand plans you may have for the session, you have to remember to put the model’s comfort at the forefront and adjust the artistic vision to the reality. The setup of this should always be a natural, professional environment of mutual interests,” he turned to the class.

“No shit,” Ren hissed through his teeth, loud enough for the student from earlier to shoot him a glance. He did not comment, though.

“Our model seems to be a little nervous,” Kobei continued in this self-satisfied voice of his, attaching the smaller ropes to the big one he had prepared before. “And especially as the model is sensory deprived, like Yusuke here, you have to warn before you act. Like now, for example; I am going to suspend you, alright?”

He waited for a barely perceptible nod from the boy, then hoisted him up by pulling on the ropes with all of his bodyweight. A shocked gasp was heard, the elbows stretched upwards, the arched spine tensed, the thinner ropes dug into the lithe body. The boy was tiptoeing now. 

“I wanna leave,” Mishima groaned at Ren’s side. “It’s horrible.”

Kobei secured the ropes in a proper length by tying them to the small iron handle at the floor. The boy was still struggling to stand; apparently that was the idea. The teacher took yet another length of the rope and wrapped it in a loop around his other groin; then he grabbed his ankle and bent the leg in the knee, forcing him to stand on only one foot and distribute more of his weight on the ropes. The thin ankle was quickly fastened to the thigh with an intricate pattern of parallel lines, which fell down the leg to the knee. 

The model was finally left alone as Kobei took the remaining ropes and the mostly empty bags to place them under the wall; Ren watched in mortified silence. The effect was indeed something to behold; the lean body trapped in the knots, helplessly suspended in the middle of the empty scene was, in a way, beautiful. But it was also disturbing, especially when Ren could hear short, strained gasps for air and a quiet mewl as the tied up model tried to flex his arms to find a minutely more comfortable position and failed miserably. 

“Alright. With this, we’re done with the preparation stage. As you can see, the pose is fairly simple; we’re looking at a semi-suspension here, a little bit harder on the upper part of the body than the legs, but overall pretty endurable, which makes it a good starting point or an entry-level session, if you’ve never done it before. We shall discuss now various angles to which we can take it from here…”

Ren stopped listening. Mishima was shaking next to him, slightly green from the shock of seeing things unfold like that, visibly upset. Ryuji didn’t look at the scene at all. He looked rather angry, but also strangely withdrawn, as if he wasn’t sure what he has just witnessed and what he should do about it. 

“Yuuki, are you alright?” Ren whispered, putting a comforting hand on Mishima’s shoulder. 

“Hell no,” the boy shook his head. “I’m so sorry guys, it was not supposed to be like this...” 

“This cousin of yours is begging for a punch,” Ryuji bit his lip. 

“I just wanna leave. Can we please go?” 

“...and the reddish skin makes for a lovely contrast on photos, which usually is one of the most prominent features of this kind of erotica. We will try to recreate it today as well.”

Suddenly a loud, really loud _thwack_ was heard and Ren’s head whipped from Mishima to the stage. Kobei was holding a leather belt in his hand, and the tied up, suspended model was trashing in his bonds, having lost his footing and trying to ride the wave of pain at the full-force hit on his backside. Ren could see a bright red, wide stripe welling up there, contrasting with the pale skin of the youth.

“Very good, Yusuke. Brace yourself, two more. One!”

 _Thwack_. The boy shuddered forcefully, giving out a short, pained shout muffled by the gag. His head was thrown back, all his muscles clenched. More pitiful sounds spilled from him as Kobei barked “Two!” and another blow landed on his fiery red buttocks; but as the blow landed, there was no sound - just a terrible, tense stillness as he held his breath in for a good, long while. Finally he released the air with a quiet moan, his chest heaving as if he ran a marathon.

“No, I just can’t,” Mishima said, getting up and lifting the sketchbook so that his face was hidden. He started to push through a couple of students towards the exit. Ryuji was quick to follow.

“Sorry, nut allergy, we have to get him out,” Ren lied quickly to the outraged student who was pushed by Mishima and followed his friends to the door.

**~*~**

“Are you all right? Will you live?” Ryuji inquired, when they finally caught up with Mishima, who all but sprinted out from the classroom and didn’t stop until he reached the main entrance. “Holy shit, man… that was messed up.”

Ren pushed Mishima gently to sit on the bench and studied him carefully. The boy was pale and looked seriously upset.

“I am so sorry, guys,” Mishima started. “This was a bad idea… But I didn’t know, I swear, I am sorry, I never wanted to…”

“Dude, chill,” Ryuji shook his head, sighing. “I can tell it wasn’t your idea. It’s not your fault, bro.”

“Are you alright, though?” Ren asked again. Mishima shook his head.

“Yeah… I’ll be fine. I’m sorry for running out like that, it’s just… I didn’t want to look at it anymore.” He shivered in the cool evening air, but with every passing minute he looked a bit better. “Anyway. That guy was creepy. I’m glad to be out.”

“F’real,” Ryuji said. “Should we… I mean… he said that it was all agreed upon, but it sure didn’t look like it… should we report it somewhere?”

“Maybe… like an anonymous letter?” Mishima asked. “It’s not like we can admit we’ve been there.”

“Let’s focus on something else for a while,” Ren said quickly. “You found out about this from your cousin, right?”

“Yes,” Mishima murmured. “He gave me the invites. But he never mentioned this. The way he said it, it was supposed to be a sketching group with female students.”

“You have a beef with him or what? Because he clearly misled you. And shit, that’s mean,” Ryuji kicked the trash can. “Especially after Kamoshida!”

Mishima turned his face away. Ren could figure he had run out of the classroom like that because he was still not over his ordeal in the volleyball team; seeing someone helpless being beaten up with a fucking belt must have triggered something. 

“Maybe let’s forget about it and just go,” Yuuki said, feigning enthusiasm. “You guys want to go eat something? We could grab some udon, for example?”

“Or maybe we could jump to your place?” Ryuji suggested. “Don’t you just wanna go home?” 

Mishima hung his head.

“I… like… no. Not really.” He admitted finally. “My cousin is still there. He’s staying until Tuesday.”

“Then all the more reason to go there,” Sakamoto said. “I wanted to have a nice, long chat with this splendid guy. And we could play video games later, you said you have the new Mortal Combat,” he offered.

“Ryuji, be serious,” Ren said cautiously with a small smile. “You can’t possibly beat up Mishima’s cousin in his family house…”

“Who said anything about beating him up in the house?” Ryuji showed his teeth in a grin. “You don’t give me enough credit. But no, seriously, let’s just… not do anything grand today. After what I saw I am in no mood for venturing out, I’d rather just do something fun, eat snacks, stay in. This sort of thing.”

“If you really wanna play Xbox, we can go,” Mishima glanced at his friend with a small flicker of gratitude in his eyes. “So, we can eat in the house as well… you up to sandwiches?”

“Sure I’m up to sandwiches. I could totally knuckle a sandwich. You goin’?” Ryuji turned to Ren.

“I think I’ll pass,” Amamiya smiled. “You guys go on without me. Can I trust you to get Yuuki home safely and not to knuckle his cousin’s sandwich too much?”

“Sure can. You gonna do what I think you gonna do?” 

Ren smirked and his glasses gleamed mysteriously as he pushed them a little up on his nose.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Ryuji.”

Mishima’s eyes moved from one to the other, not quite understanding, until he finally clicked a second later and he almost jumped up with a knowing ‘oooh’.

“Oooh I see! You are going to scout for…” 

“Shuddup, Mishima!” Ryuji smacked him on the head and pulled at his hand, starting to walk towards the train station. “He’s gonna go home early like a good boy on probation that he is. Now, focus! Mortal Combat, right?”

Ren waved his hand at them with a smile and waited until they safely disappear in the underground pathway.

**~*~**

The corridor in front of the classroom was empty. 

Everyone was still in there, focused on the workshop; Ren could hear Kobei’s resounding voice through the door, rustle of chairs and an occasional, muffled question from a student. He tried to move as quietly as possible as he moved close to the door; there was no window or crack he could peek through and the keyhole was far too small, but at least he could hear better. 

Kobei was explaining something. His voice was punctuated with short, quiet, patting sounds Ren could not decipher. He tried to focus; Kobei went on about importance of saturation or something like that. Nothing of importance.

There was a piece of paper lying on the floor on the opposite side of the corridor; Ren abandoned his hearing outpost to pick it up. It was a homemade leaflet, produced on a typical home printer, folded in two. Amamiya smirked; he has just struck gold.

There was all sort of information on the leaflet, including a short curriculum of the instructor and his dubious experience in giving workshops on kinbaku. Apart from the description of the focus of the workshop, there was also a timetable and this is exactly what Ren was looking for. 

  
_“Body as canvas: a male figure subject study”_  
______________________________________________________  
_Shibari and traditional erotica extracurricular photography class_

_17:00 - 18:30 PART 1 A lecture illustrated by practical exemplification on the model_  
_PART 2 Students’ workshop_

_18:30 recess_

_19:00 - 20:00 PART 3 Continuation of the workshop, revision_

  
Ren glanced at the watch at his wrist; it was almost six o’clock. He folded the leaflet in half and with quiet resolve headed down the corridor, to the male bathroom. He locked himself in one of the stalls and settled for waiting.

**~*~**

Ren had a vague plan to go to the cafeteria during recess and try to question some of the art students there, trying to get more information on the teacher, his methods or other workshops he might be conducting. Was it a regular thing in this school? Was any of the other workshops paid? What could be possibly going on during those workshops? Was it really all agreed upon with the principal or the dean? Did they even know what was going on during the class? Did Kobei really have a palpable experience, as he claimed? Was there an internet page, or a portfolio he could look at to confirm? 

Ren was especially curious if any of the students knew who the model was, and how old was he. He didn’t look that far away from Ren in terms of age, really. And why would nobody want to approach him before?... Maybe he could convince one of the photographers to show him through his pictures, maybe he would get a clearer grasp of what was going on in his absence. He remembered his face quite well; he was sure Ryuji and Mishima didn’t pay enough attention, but he did take a careful look. Something about that boy stood out. 

And he was quite good-looking, Ren had to agree. 

He had a very weird, nagging hunch though. Before he would go down to the cafe, he decided to check on the classroom first.

**~*~**

As the majority of the noise created by the students leaving the classroom drifted away, Ren emerged from the toilet and was completely shocked to see the corridor totally empty except for one student, who was quickly zipping up his bags, trying to hurry off. 

“Hey, where is everybody?” Ren called after him.

“Snacks are free in the cafe!” the student answered before disappearing behind the corner. 

Ren grimaced. Just as well, he thought, heading towards the classroom. He waited for a while there, trying to listen in, but heard absolutely nothing. That was weird. Did everybody leave? Where was the instructor? Was the model still there? It would have been nigh impossible to untie him that quickly… And yet, it was deadly quiet in there. 

He really didn’t want to march into the classroom to find a potentially sticky situation, like the instructor still being there and asking him questions about what does he want or why did he leave the workshop so suddenly before. But in the same time, seeing the scene could be so fruitful evidence-wise… He listened a while longer, still got nothing, and so he dared to creak the door open a sliver. 

The classroom was indeed empty. That is, empty of everyone except the tied-up boy, kneeling on the floor in the middle of the scene, still gagged and blindfolded, without even his yukata to cover his nakedness from view. Ren couldn’t believe this; is seemed that the only thing that instructor did was to lower the boy on the ground, so that he wouldn’t be hanging in the painful position. The classroom was still occupied, there were jackets and sketchbooks and art supplies scattered about, but there was literally no one here, and the boy was all alone. 

Ren opened the door some more. He could see him clearly now. He was shaking, head hung low, slim chest heaving with quick-drawn, interrupted breaths. He could be panicking - left all alone like this, most probably under huge stress and unable to tell what is going on around him. Ren glanced to the right, at the things the teacher left there; there was the cruel belt hung over the chair, and there was a thin bamboo stick as well. The big welts faded from the model’s buttocks, but his legs and upper arms were covered in a slightly pink hue, probably from the cane. 

The boy stirred in his bonds, trying to shift on the floor to alleviate the stress on his arms and knees. He couldn’t really find any position which would be comfortable. The ropes, looser as they were, still firmly kept him attached to the hook in the ceiling. Ren’s heart skipped a beat when he heard a small, broken moan.

Glancing back at the empty, darkish corridor Ren only convinced himself that really no one is coming. The teacher must have left with the other students and probably was in the cafeteria. Amamiya was uncertain; should the instructor come back all of a sudden, he will find him here, but… 

Ren mentally smacked himself. For fuck’s sake. What was the right thing to do...? 


	2. Chapter 2

**~*~**

Yusuke could hear that someone opened the door, as the hinges creaked a tiny bit. Bold, well-audible sounds of steps quickly closing in the distance between the door and the shaking form on the middle of the scene were heard, then a thump of throwing the backpack on the floor. 

Ren took off his jacket. 

“Hey,” he said to the model. “Don’t freak out. I’m not gonna do anything.” 

He wrapped his jacket around the boy, as good as the ropes allowed for it; Yusuke stirred in apprehension, not knowing who is speaking to him and for what reason was he approached in the first place. A small sound escaped past the gag; a sound of confusion. Of fear. 

“Why did they leave you all alone in here? And like this!? That’s messed up,” Ren said nervously, reaching for the blindfold to remove it, but as soon as Yusuke felt the hands reaching for the knot at the back of his head, he flinched away violently and a series of short, negating sounds tore from his throat. Ren hesitated; the model definitely did not want to be touched.

“I’m sorry,” Ren mumbled. “I didn’t… I didn’t mean to… upset you,” he finished clumsily, letting his hands dangle on his sides. Yusuke moved as far away from him as he was able, trying to crawl back with his bound limbs. He looked and sounded agitated.

“Look, calm down. I mean no harm. I won’t do anything you’re not comfortable with, okay…?” Ren tried in a placatory tone. “I just… I saw you here, and I can’t leave you all alone, something could happen and you wouldn’t even be able to call for help. So... can I remove the other... thing so that we can talk?” Ren asked cautiously.

After a moment of hesitation accompanied only by a shudder of constricted shoulders, a small, quick nod came.

“Alright,” Ren said quietly, kneeling next to Yusuke on the floor. He made sure the boy can hear it, feel him coming closer. “Let me take it off.” 

He made a quick work with the clasp of the ball gag and pulled it out of the boy’s mouth gently. A weird, wet sound followed as he flexed his stiff jaws back into closed position. A lot of saliva bubbled on the black leather ball, hanging from the youth’s mouth in thin threads; he moved his head away with a visible grimace of disgust and wiped his face on his arm, first the right one, then the left. 

Ren let the ball gag rest on the blanket on the floor.

“Who are you, anyway? What are you doing here?” Yusuke asked. His voice was much more polite than Ren would have expected under the circumstances. 

“I’m just a student. I cannot believe you were left here alone, like this. Where is the sly guy?”

Yusuke turned his head away with a small sigh. Ren noticed that the ropes on his chest were far too tight, cutting off proper circulation and biting into his flesh. He swallowed suddenly, catching himself staring; the perfectly sharp dart of the immobilized clavicle was pearling with sweat, catching light in the most fascinating way.

“He… went to get some coffee,” Yusuke offered reluctantly.

“Coffee… ?” Ren asked taken aback. “And he didn’t even untie you?”

“It would take too much time to do it again, and it wouldn’t be exactly right,” Yusuke explained in a small voice. “I should stay in composition, you see. The ropes left marks, it wouldn’t be possible to match them again if he untied me. This is better. This way the students can pick up just where they left.” 

“Couldn’t he ask someone else to get him coffee? Or leave you with somebody?” 

“I guess not. But why do you care?” the model’s voice was tinged with irritation. “You should be preoccupied with your sketches, or better, browse through your photos and figure which you need to redo. We’re here for art, not idle chatter.” 

“This… all of this. This is for art.” Ren asked, genuine disbelief in his voice. 

Yusuke flinched visibly, not unlike that time when he was hit with the belt for the first time. What did this stranger want? Why was he doubting him? Mocking him? Was he doing that bad...? Did this weird student dislike the direction in which the class was going?

“I don’t understand,” Yusuke asked, hesitating. “A-are you unsatisfied with the class?”

Ren sighed and shifted on the floor with frustration. 

“I am not from the artsy circle,” he said quickly. “I’m here mostly by a coincidence. And I can hardly be pleased when watching a crook abuse someone and sell it as art. Listen, is there anything I can do to make you feel more comfortable? Like, is there another blanket or something…?” He whipped his head to look for something more suitable to cover the other guy than just his jacket, which didn’t do much, to be honest.

“Oh, you just don’t get it,” Yusuke barked at him. “Kobei-san is *not* a crook. And if you’re not a student of the Academy, then what are you even doing here? You should leave,” he said.

“I can’t leave. It’s completely wrong.” Ren said adamantly, but calmly. “You’re cold. You’re shivering. Did he even think of bringing another blanket?”

Yusuke hung his head, defeated in the face of the other guy’s stubbornness. The movement pulled on his outstretched arms and back, but his neck was hurting from keeping it stiffly upright all the time, so he had to give it some rest.

“There should be,” he sighed. “Try looking next to Kobei-san’s things, over there…? Or behind the curtain,” he nudged his head towards the makeshift changing area in the corner of the room. 

There was a moment of shuffling and searching-for-something noises, but it didn’t take long for Ren to speak up again.

“Got it.” 

Something warm and woolen was wrapped around Yusuke, hugging his form much better than a tailored jacket. It was a welcome feeling. With all of the students gone the room was quickly becoming colder, and the light sheen of sweat on his back and limbs was starting to dry, giving him chills.

The hands on his body were small and persistent, moving in a prompt manner, never staying longer than absolutely necessary. Quick, able. Respectful. The blanket was pulled over his shoulders, some of it fell down his back and the rest was wrapped around his lap. That allowed Yusuke to relax a bit, once his nakedness was hidden from view. 

“Let me remove the blindfold,” Ren offered, but met with resistance again.

“No.” The boy said seriously. “No, no offense, but… I do not wish to see your face. I’m going to see you again later on the corridor or in town somewhere, and it’s going to be awkward and extremely embarrassing to both of us. I… I don’t need it.” He explained with a strained exhale. 

“...Fine,” Ren said, a little hurt. “If it makes it easier. But... I wouldn’t mock or tease you, you know. It was not my intention.” 

Yusuke exhaled and his chest moved with effort underneath the criss-crossing ropes. 

“I think I grasp your intention; and as much as I dislike pity, I can still appreciate that you took time to offer me help. I’m grateful. But I cannot figure why would you care.”

Ren almost scoffed.

“It’s not pity. It’s called being decent. I care because you’re kneeling here, shivering, tied in the same position for hours on end, with ropes which are too tight and will leave bruises…”

“They are not too tight.”

“...you could asphyxiate or have a stroke or a panic attack, and…”

“I am in perfectly good health, thank you.”

“...and there is no one to give you a helping hand. Or even if you just wanted to scratch an itch, or go pee. There is no one here to look after you.” Ren felt anger welling up within him again. “And you cannot move, or speak, or see anything or anyone. This is messed up. It looks more like a corporal punishment than a modeling session.”

“Oh, you don’t know anything... Don’t jump to conclusions, just because something looks controversial, it doesn’t mean it’s bad.” Yusuke said in an irritated voice.

“It’s not that it looks controversial; I get it, I know what shibari is and I understand the appeal of it, but... all together, this absence of anyone, this disregard for how you feel, for that it hurts you, hitting you without any warning or time to brace yourself, it… it looks non-consensual.” 

“Excuse me?” Yusuke whipped his head up, wincing at the pain it caused. “It is consensual, I knew what I’m agreeing to. And Kobei-san explained it at the beginning. There is no coercion here.” 

“Alright, so you agreed to this; but it’s not what I mean. I’m asking if you want to stop.” 

Yusuke was momentarily silenced. He didn’t think about it. 

He didn’t think that upon seeing him today someone from the outside would focus on anything else rather than how the sketch looks. He couldn’t fathom that someone would take under consideration his endurance or need for a break. That much was true, Yusuke wanted this to stop; his limbs were completely numb and cold, and he felt like losing feeling in his fingers. He was very uncomfortable and the position of his neck was giving him a dull, hot throbbing, which was creeping up to his head; he knew that tomorrow he will be battling a migraine, and he was worried about the chores he would still have to do, soreness of his limbs or not. But... Madarame sensei wanted this of him. He made it clear that he won’t accept failure or embarrassment, and complaining or asking for a break would clearly be perceived as such.

“You do want this to stop,” Yusuke heard suddenly. “I can make it stop. I’ll go talk to someone.”

“No!” Yusuke all but yelled before he managed to catch himself. “No, please! It’s fine,” he said, quieter now, but still far from calm. “I’m fine. Don’t go anywhere, please. You would only get me into trouble. Just… just stay with me. Please.”

This shaky plea hung in the air, and Yusuke felt disgusted with himself for not handling that better. But there it was, truth laid bare between him and the weird stranger who cared; Yusuke blurted everything out in a moment of weakness, admitted that something was, indeed, wrong, and he still had no guarantee he won’t fail Madarame when this Samaritan guy goes babbling to everyone about how Yusuke felt wronged and how unfair it all was to him.

“Are you afraid of someone…?” a quiet question came. Yusuke could not bring himself to answer, he just shook his head, and a small whimper escaped him, as the movement brought sudden pain. 

“This is fucked up, you need a break,” Ren muttered. “How can I help you _without_ causing you trouble?”

Yusuke groaned, shifting uncomfortably in his bonds. He had to focus on something else, something else than the pain in his limbs, than the ache in his spine, because once he accepts that under-informed, sudden pity from this weirdly alluring student, he will probably just start crying. He quickly reigned himself in, trying to slack his tense, sore limbs; his legs, especially knees, were killing him. 

“Do you have some water?” Yusuke asked in a flash of intelligence. This he really needed. “I’m… My throat is parched.”

“Yes,” Ren said quickly, rummaging through his bag. He finally produced a small bottle of mineral water and opened it. “There. Slowly.”

He put a bottle to Yusuke’s lips, tilting it gently, so that the other could drink. Ren poured small amounts, careful not to give too much at a time and keeping the bottle gingerly leveled; Yusuke accepted it thankfully. His Adam’s apple bobbed slowly as he drank, and Ren caught himself staring again, this time at this beautiful, long, fair-skinned, smooth neck.

“Your lips are all chapped,” Ren said, when the boy withdrew. A little bit of water spilled and escaped in a small, thin rivulet down his chest. “More?”

“No, that’s enough,” Yusuke said. He didn’t want to wait till the end of the session with a full bladder. “Thank you.”

“Wait… I have tissues somewhere,” Ren returned to digging through his bag and the sounds of unzipping something and browsing through the pockets followed. Then Yusuke noticed a faint scent of mint, as a pack of tissues was opened and he felt a hesitant, small touch on his face, where the water smeared on his cheek. The touch dried the spot gingerly and moved through his neck in small dabs down to the chest, where it wiped more decisively at a bigger patch of half-dried saliva, which still rested there, left from the ball gag earlier. 

“Okay,” Yusuke heard. “That’s better. Is there anything I can do to loosen these ropes a little?”

“No, don’t touch them… it’s fine, really,” Yusuke muttered, hanging his head down again and wincing at how it brought absolutely no relief. 

“Your hands are purple.”

“That was to be expected.”

“You know, I should be able to put two fingers underneath the rope without problem, that’s how you check if it’s not too tight. I couldn’t do it with these, so it’s bad and don’t tell me otherwise. This guy is a fraud, he doesn’t know what he’s doing.” Ren changed his position to sitting cross-legged on the floor much closer to Yusuke, and he gently maneuvered the boy’s head to fall on his shoulder, so that he could rest it there. The model made a surprised sound and tensed at first, but yielded after a brief moment of hesitation. He sighed, giving up the pretense. He had shed his dignity already, he could just as well rest now.

“And you, obviously, do know how it’s done.” Yusuke smirked, nestling on the warm shoulder. He could feel it move a tiny bit, as the other youth chuckled. 

“I, uh… read a thing or two.” 

“Ah. So… that’s all theoretical knowledge?” Yusuke asked.

“Mostly theoretical, yes.” A merry answer came. “But I know enough to employ safety and ask for permission. I would never leave you alone like that. There could be, I don’t know, a janitor perv sniffing around…”

“A janitor perv!” Yusuke scoffed, but there was mirth in his voice.

“...or, let’s imagine, clay-sculpting tutor cougar lady, who could take advantage of you.” Yusuke was chuckling on his arm, and Ren could feel a delicate curve of his lips through his turtleneck sweater. “So you see. It’s good that you’ve got your personal bodyguard here.”

“Oh, are you qualified for that as well?” 

Ren laughed. 

“I wish. I’m quite agile, though.”

Yusuke smiled again. “I can tell you’re skinny. Your shoulder is so boney.”

Ren pretended to be offended and gave out a fake sound of indignation. “The skinny one is _you_! I am just a healthy size S,” he said. 

That seemingly threw the model into more somber mood, because he didn’t respond; he just sighed sadly and the ghost of his breath teased Ren’s neck. Amamiya couldn’t have known that the other boy is thinking about whatever scarce supper he will put together for himself once he comes back to Madarame’s atelier.

“Your name is Yusuke, right?” Ren asked suddenly.

“...Yes.”

“My name is…”

“Please don’t,” Yusuke said suddenly. “Just… don’t tell me. It’s so nice to just talk, to just be like this, no strings attached... I don’t want to ruin it. I don’t want to know who you are.” 

Ren sighed, biting on his lower lip in frustration. 

“Don’t take it personally, please. It’s just… anonymity is easier. At least… for me. Now.”

“That’s okay.” Ren offered. “It just doesn’t seem fair; I know your name, after all.”

Yusuke just sighed. He felt suddenly sleepy, resting on this lithe shoulder, drawing in warmth from the other person next to him. He was so tired.

“What time is it…?” he asked, a little apprehension appearing in his voice.

“It’s still fifteen minutes until they come,” Ren offered gently. “You can rest a bit more.” 

“Thank you.”

They fell silent for a while; Ren felt a bit chilled, sitting there unmoving in the empty, drafty room, and he realized that Yusuke must be simply cold. He reached to pull the blanket a bit more tight around his form. 

“Are you cold?” Ren asked, and felt the head against his shoulder shake a short ‘no’. “How are you feeling?”

“...Tired,” a short answer came. 

Ren pressed his cheek to the model’s head in a mute comforting gesture. Yusuke didn’t move away.

“Can I ask you something?” Ren whispered, a little encouraged by this. “But... don’t lie. Since I’m anonymous, there is no need for it, right?”

“...Right. Go on.” 

“Did you know he is going to hit you?”

Yusuke’s body tensed. Ren could feel a small grimace form on his lips, but then the model’s head moved and he pressed his face in the crook of Ren’s neck, as if forgetting about the blindfold covering his face and trying to hide. He gave out a long, strained sigh.

“...No,” he answered finally. “I knew about the blindfold, I knew about the suspension. I agreed to pose nude. But I didn’t know there will be gagging, and… I didn’t know about the belt. Nor the cane, for that matter, though that one was easier to handle.” Yusuke groaned quietly as he tried to flex his bound arms, which did nothing to help, so he just returned to his previous position. “Could you tell?”

“Yeah,” Ren confirmed in an awkward tone. “You were unprepared… He didn’t give you a proper warning. And he just swung at you, from the sound of impact I could tell it was too forceful.”

“You think… other students noticed too?” Yusuke asked, concerned and clearly embarrassed.

“I’m sure they did,” Ren said. “The way you shuddered… it was pretty obvious. Are you worried about this?”

“It will reflect bad,” he said. “On Kobei-san, possibly on the school.”

“He had it coming. Schmuck. And I, for one, will not be considering to attend this certain university. You?”

The model made a small, hesitating sound. “Well… I thought about the National Academy of Art, if I can pull it off… if this one wasn’t a private school with a high entrance fee, it could be a backup plan,” he mused.

Ren made a loud “tsk” above him and shifted his arm slightly.

“So on top of everything you’re a minor. I fucking knew it,” he said with dispirited voice. “You’re still in high school. You’re what, seventeen?”

Yusuke was really taken aback, suddenly torn out of his reverie. He just slipped up, confessed he’s not of age, and suddenly all of this turned into a crime scene. Yusuke felt cold dread creep up his spine; how could he do it? Why would he even engage in that talk in the first place, what was he even doing?! He will put Madarame sensei in serious peril with his idiocy! He lifted his head from the comforting shoulder, staring into the black fabric as if he could see the other boy.

“L-listen, I…”

“Don’t panic,” Amamiya sighed and reached to rub the bound arm in a comforting gesture. “I won’t go around gossiping about it. It would do more harm than good, I realize. But tell me once again that this is okay and you agreed to it, and I’ll laugh.”

Yusuke groaned and placed his head back on the stranger’s shoulder at a small beckoning tug at his arm. He probably shouldn’t say anything else, shouldn’t continue this conversation, because it could potentially have disastrous results.

“Kobei-san doesn’t know my real age,” he confessed. “I lied about it. I don’t look my age anyway. You don’t understand, sometimes I just have to do things to get by, or to help my sensei… And I did agree to do it. I understood what it’s gonna be. I knew and agreed to it, so please… If you tell anyone, I could be expelled, or lose my scholarship, not to mention that my sensei and Kobei-san…”

“Yusuke, stop,” Amamiya interrupted him gently. “I get it, and I said I will not put you in trouble. I won’t tell. Don’t work yourself up.”

A weird sound tore from the model’s throat as he hid his face again. Something between a sob and a groan of relief.

“...Thank you.”

“It doesn’t change the fact that your agreement is irrelevant,” Ren continued in a sarcastic tone. “This whole situation should never have come to pass. You were either manipulated or threatened into this. Like I said. Non-consensual.”  
  
Yusuke scoffed.

“Non-consensual, huh? Where did you even learn that word, on RedTube? How consensual is the stuff there? You have no idea, in real life or online, how much of the daily business is agreed upon, and how much of it is forced. You don’t consider it as you go about your life, but it’s true; all people work with their bodies. A worker building roads in heat of summer works with his body just as much as a female escort does. Just with... different parts of the body. In the end, none of the rheumatism, or joint damage, or melanoma, or miner’s lung - none of this is consensual, no one agrees to it, and it is no different from a venereal disease, if you think of it that way. It is a side effect of regular work, one that people have to do on a daily basis. This world isn’t fair, and it’s not consensual. We just do things to survive.”

Ren was silent for a while. 

“If you look at it like this, it does make _some_ sense,” he grimaced. “Except it doesn’t, because you’re not a prostitute. And I don’t believe that abuse translates so clearly into occupational disease.” 

“...No one is abusing me. But I am, technically, at work.”

Ren sighed sadly, knowing full well that this just wasn’t the case. He wondered briefly if Yusuke was serious, and if he was going to get anything from all this; was it a part-time job or maybe a favour to someone? He did mention this mysterious sensei. The whole Kobei guy also seemed suspicious. He could be pressuring Yusuke to do this, dangling a reward in front of him in form of connections in the artistic world or helping with getting into his dream university. Or it could be even simpler; Yusuke could be owing him money or there was a compromising material which would ruin his career, if he didn’t agree to go with this session. Whatever it was, Yusuke must have been badly intimidated, if he was defending this despotic setup so vehemently.

Ren felt a need to touch the lean arm again, to comfort Yusuke somehow, to do something more than he was doing now. Since he met no resistance upon the touch, he dared to rub the arm in small, soothing strokes with his thumb; Yusuke allowed this. He even nestled closer.

“So you’ve got a scholarship, right?” Ren asked, trying to steer the conversation into a less troublesome territory. 

“Yeah. I managed.”

“You must be good. You’re an artist, then?”

“A painter.” 

“Is there any place I can see your works?”

Yusuke stiffed again. Ren glanced at him, surprised; he could swear that he choked on his own breath for a second. A comforting hand on the tense shoulder rubbed a bit stronger.

“Yes… It’s mostly school assignments, though,” Yusuke said finally. “Some of them made onto the display. In the school gallery.” 

“Which gallery?” There was no response. “Oh come on, I wanna see.”

“...Kosei High.” 

Ren nodded. “And apart from that, you must have other works. Not assignments, your original thoughts.” 

“...I do.”

Amamiya smiled. “You can’t be _that_ shy,” he said. “You just told me you strive for the National. You have to be good. I really would like to see your art.”

Yusuke sighed; he had no strength of mind to deal with this now. He shifted his head, so that he was pressing his forehead to Ren’s shoulder; his neck had a bit of relief, but was still stiff and sore. The sleepiness evaporated in the wake of his earlier agitation, but as he started to calm down again, exhaustion settled over him with twice the power. He felt almost lightheaded; he counted the minutes in his head - the break must have been coming to an end soon. One more hour... One more hour and he will head home.

His stomach growled suddenly; Yuske winced at the abrupt realization of a void in his belly, which he didn’t feel until he focused on it. 

“Hungry?” Ren asked, reaching for his backpack. 

“Yeah… I’ll eat something when I get home.” 

“What did you have for lunch?” Ren was moving, searching for something; Yusuke lifted his head up to allow him some space. He didn’t have lunch. He was out all day, so he couldn’t grab anything at the atelier, and he knew that if he goes spending money eating out he will not have enough till the end of the month. There was some shopping for new canvas and watercolors to be done, and he run out of red ink again; and there were school fees, train fares, monthly subscriptions, his phone bill. And this extra course in still life he wanted so badly… he must be able to put aside at least 4 thousand yen this month to be able to afford it in July...

“Hey? What did you eat before?” Ren repeated the question. Yusuke twitched and scanned his brain for a suitable answer; a type of food he liked.

“Ramen,” he said finally. “Veggie ramen. In that quaint corner place next to Bunkamura centre.” His brain supplied, involuntarily gravitating towards something he would actually like to eat. Yusuke had been in that place only once, but the food was divine and he remembered it fondly. 

“Well, I don’t believe you had anything,” Ren muttered. “One, you’re far too skinny to be eating properly. Two, I have a friend who is modelling, and she never eats before the session to look slimmer. Not that you need it, but… well.” There was a faint rustling sound of paper and something like foil ripping. 

“I am not so vain to worry about that.”

“It’s not vanity. It’s just being self-conscious.” Ren said in an admonishing voice. “So about that lunch? Never happened, right?” There was a dull popping sound, as if something solid was broken in half.

Yusuke hung his head. “Frankly, yes. I just didn’t have the time to eat. That’s life.”

“That’s what all the people say,” Ren laughed shortly, recalling a song. He had a nice, melodic laugh. “You’re riding high in April, shot down in May.” 

“Oh? Never took you for a Sinatra guy.” 

“Mhm… I can be unpredictable. There, it’s chocolate. Have some, you need calories to keep you going.” 

A small cube of sweet, cocoa-scented delicacy was pressed against Yusuke’s lips, and he opened up after a second of surprised stillness. When was the last time he had chocolate…? He couldn’t spare money for treats, and sensei was never buying them out of principle. The thick, velvety texture spread around his mouth, melting with a bittersweet, intense taste; it was great. 

“...Oh, It’s the good kind,” he murmured.

“Yes, the good stuff. High on cocoa for brain function and all that.” Ren confirmed. “Yusuke, listen to me. You need to eat something proper once you get home. A hot bath would help, but I doubt you will be able to do without a double Ibuprofen. If not an ointment of some sorts for sore muscles, or back pain. Do you have anything like that at home?”

Yusuke muttered something non-committing. Another cube of chocolate was put in his mouth without ceremony, and he didn’t argue; he just accepted.

“How about this: I can wait for you. Until it’s over. I will take you out to eat something decent, make sure you’re stocked medicine-wise and then get you home safely. What say you?” Ren voice was concerned, and something else was there, a genuine, fragile thing, a little waver in his voice. Yusuke didn’t know what that was. He felt a hand on his arm again. It was warm; beckoning. 

He wanted to agree. He wanted it so much.

“I… I am so sorry,” he choked out. “I would like it, really. Please, believe me. But I’m being picked up straight after this.”

The hand fell from his shoulder. Yusuke felt cold all of a sudden.

“A boyfriend?” Ren asked, in a dry attempt to crack a joke. 

“N-no! My sensei.” 

“You are doing this for him, aren’t you…?” Ren’s voice was stern. “What else does he make you do, Yusuke?”

The model clenched his jaws. He wanted to disappear.

“...Get out of my head,” he whispered barely audibly. 

Ren sighed sadly, feeling completely useless. Yusuke was deep in this. He made it feel like he didn’t want to be helped. But how could Ren just leave him like that? He couldn’t fathom it. He glanced at the watch on his wrist; the break was almost over.

“Yusuke,” he said gently. “I hate to say this, but…”

“...We are running out of time,” Yusuke finished for him. “I know. I… I owe you. You helped me, it was…” _Civil? Merciful?_ “Thank you.”

“Think nothing of it,” Ren said, getting up into a crouch next to Yusuke. “I would really prefer it if I waited for you and got you home.”

“I can’t. I’m sorry.”

Ren sighed, zipping up his backpack. He had to take the jacket from underneath the blanket. It meant uncovering Yusuke. He was really reluctant to do it; he knew that once he takes the blanket off, Yusuke will feel very cold in the empty room. The boy brought this topic himself, though.

“You better go,” he said calmly, but with this weird sadness, this apathy in his voice that made Ren want to tear at the ropes constricting him, regardless the consequences for both of them, wrap him up in the blanket and haul him away from here, through the window and over the rooftops if he had to, to the darkish, dusty, cosy safety of his coffee-scented attic. “If Kobei-san sees you, we will both get an earful. But I have to ask you to… put that gag back on and take away the blanket.”

“Shit.” Ren couldn’t stop a curse slip through his clenched teeth. “That’s fucked up.” 

To his ultimate surprise, Yusuke laughed quietly. 

“You can do it,” he said merrily. “You learned all about it on RedTube, remember?”

Ren snorted as he picked up the ball gag, and shook his head disbelievingly. Of all possible moments, Yusuke decided to react to him now, when he had to leave. 

“Actually, it wasn’t RedTube,” Ren teased, cupping Yusuke’s cheek. “It was Kink.com.”

“How is that better?” Yusuke laughed. They were chuckling there for a while, Ren pressing his forehead to Yusuke’s and stroking his cheek with his knuckles. It only dawned on them how close together and intimate they are when they heard a noise from outside of the door. The student group was coming together; they could enter the classroom any minute. Startled, they moved away from each other.

“Do it,” Yusuke said quickly. “Thank you once again. Be well.”

Ren took in a shaky breath, stilled his hands in a really big effort, mouthed a quick ‘open up’ to Yusuke and pressed the leather ball against his lips. He complied, trying to accommodate the size of the ball, and flexed his jaw to fit it better; Ren fastened it at the back of his head, looser than it was before, being careful not to trap any of Yusuke’s hair into the clasp. Once he made sure it is secured, he reached for the blanket and pulled it off of the lean body. It elicited a small gasp, as the cold air hit Yusuke’s naked form. The jacket was also taken away and Ren put it on quickly.

Without the cover, Yusuke quickly developed a shiver, like Ren suspected. He was keeping his head up and in Ren’s direction, as if he was trying to see him through the blindfold; he looked so thin, so fragile. His hands, trapped behind his back in too tight bounds, were of an unpleasant color. His nails have turned bluish by now. 

The noise from the outside grew on intensity. Someone leaned on the door, almost opening it; there were laughs and torn snippets of conversations coming their way.

Ren knelt down for the last time. He couldn’t stop himself. 

He lifted Yusuke’s chin tenderly.

“Hang in there, Yusuke from Kosei High,” he whispered, pressing a brief, tiny, chaste kiss into the corner of Yusuke’s lips, over the ball gag. “I’ll come find you.” 

Yusuke mewled, turning his head so that he would keep contact with Ren’s hand for the longest possible while; but the touch was gone in an instant, and the boy along with it. Yusuke could hear quick, lightweight footsteps retreating in the direction of the door. He wanted to yell after him, to squirm and struggle against the ropes, to make him come back somehow; but he knew he cannot do that. 

The sounds grew louder. There was a sudden screeching of the hinges as the doors opened and Yusuke could tell, by the sounds of multiple pairs of feet, that the students were spilling into the classroom. A minute more and he felt footsteps approaching him, and a big, callused hand patting his head casually.

“You okay? Rested a little?” He heard Kobei-san’s voice. “Good. Don’t worry, won’t be long now. I’ll suspend you again in the previous position, so brace yourself.”

_Hang in there. I’ll come find you._

The ropes tightened around his chest and middle. There was a sudden, white-hot pain in his arms as they were squeezed even tighter together and pulled taut; the ropes chafed against the delicate skin of his groin. The hook creaked above him as he was hoisted up, forced to first levitate and put all of his body weight on the ropes around his torso and arms, and then to balance on his toes again, barely able to stay still. 

_Hang in there._

“I hope you have gone through your photos, right? Any you need to redo? The people sketching over there, please take your seats… we will begin with Katsuhiko-kun. Which would you like to take again? Okay, I’ll adjust the light.”

Yusuke could tell that someone knelt in front of him. He heard the click and beep of the camera as the photo was taken. He could tell that this person moved forward, taking close-ups below him.

_I’ll come find you._

_Hang in there._

“Okay, next. Yusuke, move your head to the right, so that your neck is exposed. That’s good, stay like this.” Suddenly there was a hand in his hair, pulling some out from under the leather strap of the gag, tousling it for a better effect.

“Hold still.”

_Hang in there._

**~*~**

Amamiya Ren was not stupid; nor was he naive. He knew abuse when he saw it. The scars on his own body and mind have taught him well, and he knew better than just turn his back to a person held trapped in unhealthy, exploitative dealings; especially of the nature he has just witnessed. He knew very well that the abused person is not necessarily able to break free from the vicious cycle, or sometimes even see or rationalize that there is a cycle there at all. He knew better than turn a blind eye.

Even if that person didn’t feel like he needed any help. Or deserved it, for some reason.

Frankly, Ren was shocked; to think that even in an uptight, rule-regulated academic society there were people inconsiderate enough to conduct an “art workshop” like that, agree to it taking place, not inquire about the age or consent or psychological state of the model, and not give a damn about how is he treated. It all made Ren furious. The rot in the society was obvious and hardly invisible, but it was daunting to see how widespread it was and how much time it would take to actually make a difference. He would probably have to do Phantom Thieving every hour of every day until he turned old and grey, and it still wouldn’t be enough to make a difference.

But maybe it wasn’t a realistic goal to save everyone; Ren realized it and wasn’t even ready to aspire to it. Right now he only wanted to save one boy in particular.

Ren pretended to be completely engrossed in his phone as he quietly scanned the pathway in front of the main door of the private academy. He was lucky; there was a parking space just nearby, comfortable to pull up and drive away, and there was only one exit from the building. If Yusuke was indeed being picked up, this would probably be the spot.

After the students left, some of their faces or attires recognizable from the first half of the workshop he witnessed, there was a longer pause when no one left the building. The lights were still on, there were other, unrelated people coming or going. A cleaning lady appeared in sight, mopping the floor in the entrance hall. Ren observed her lazily through the glass door, until a car stopping in the parking lot grabbed his attention. 

The car stayed with the engine on. It was an elegant, black Subaru with darkened windows.

Ren didn’t move, still sitting on the nearby bench, hunched over and calmly pretending to text. The car was still running.

Finally the door slid open and Kobei emerged, carrying two sport bags with all the gear he was using during the session. He strolled happily towards the car, opened the trunk, flung the bags in and briefly exchanged greetings with a person inside, who must have rolled the window down. Unluckily, it was on the other side of the car, back passenger seat, and Ren could not see who that was, just that Kobei leaned in to level his eyes with the speaker.

Yusuke came into view.

As he beheld him, Ren thought he will lose it. He was ready to lunge towards the car, bite through all four tyres and beat up the driver, then snatch Yusuke away and run. He was moving very slowly in a stiff, painful manner; his knees were failing him, and he favoured one leg over the other. His arms were rigid and unmoving on his sides and he was bending slightly, trying to lessen the strain of his sore back. 

Kobei noticed him exit the building and called to move faster and get in the car; Yusuke visibly tried to comply, but couldn’t. The bag he was carrying in his right hand by a strap was hanging so low that it was almost dragging on the ground.

“Kitagawa-kun, move it! We are running late as it is!”

Kobei drummed his fingers on the roof of the car impatiently; suddenly he laughed at something the person inside said, shook his head and walked over to Yusuke. He grabbed his left arm and _dragged_ him towards the car, pushing him on to the back seat and slamming the door behind him. He circled the car, got in to the front, and the Subaru started to move.

Ren quickly typed the license plate onto the notepad in his phone, shaking with barely contained rage.

He added a name as well. Kitagawa Yusuke. 

Kosei High. 

_Wait for me_ , he thought to himself. _Be strong. I’ll save you from this._

**~*~**

Yusuke was lying flat on his back on the futon in his room, being as still as possible, his long limbs spread and slack. He felt exhausted. He felt drained to his very bones. He was fed up, sick of the touching, pulling, dragging, arranging him in positions, _hitting him_ ; he was fed up to the point of vomiting. He couldn’t fall asleep. He was so tired, and yet sleep would not claim him.

There was no possibility of a bath in this shack, and Madarame had used up all the hot water for doing the dishes prior to picking him up. He had mentioned it in the car too, so Yusuke knew he couldn’t be too happy that he had to do it and probably wasn’t pleased with the fact that Yusuke hadn’t been there as usual to clean up after dinner. 

Supper consisted of leftover takeaway from yesterday; Yusuke didn’t even have it in him to heat it up. He wolfed down the clumpy, dry rice and a few hard shrimps with a dollop of pink sauce taken out of the fridge, settled for a quick, cold shower, which left him even more rigid than he was, gulped an accidental painkiller from the medicine cabinet in the kitchen and collapsed on the futon.

The room was dark, lights from the streets casting vertical lines on the wall he kept staring at. The window panes rattled gently against the windy evening; Yusuke shuddered, feeling cold creeping up to him from the toes up. He reached with his shaking fingers to wrap the covers tighter around himself; he hid his face in the folds.

Still, sleep would not come. He was too distraught, to tense, too sore and queasy in the stomach. After some more time of laying still he flung his eyes open, almost giving up on trying to fall asleep, suddenly reluctant to not see as the bitter memory of the blindfold came back with full force.

Oh, let it end. Either come sleep or morning. 

He glanced at his phone. It was only 10 p.m. He groaned, dispirited.

“Yusuke, I’m coming in,” he heard suddenly and the door to his room slid open. Madarame. Of course he didn’t knock or wait until Yusuke responds; of course there was no lock on the door.

“I brought you some tea,” Madarame said, putting a tray with a pot of hot brew on the desk. “I thought it will cheer you up. You seem pretty upset, boy. Why is that? Kobei-san praised you a lot, the session was a success.”

Yusuke didn’t move when Madarame sat next to him on the futon. 

“You’re not painting anything this evening?” Sensei asked.

Yusuke shook his head against the pillow. He was so tired. 

“Sit up, boy. Drink the tea. It will do you good.” Madarame said in a more serious voice, reaching for the small cup to pass it to his student. Yusuke knew better than to disobey; he knew that sensei can get violent when rubbed the wrong way, so he started to get up with effort.

He accepted the tea into his shaky, swollen fingers. At least it was hot; it was warming his palm through the brownish, ceramic cup.

“Thank you, sensei.” 

Madarame studied him carefully.

“Why are you sulking?” He asked finally. “What is it this time? Kobei-san seemed happy enough with you, this leads me to believe that the session went well. You have been posing before, maybe not in front of so many students, but you have to push yourself a little to develop as an artist. It was a respectable art school, and you can write down this experience as an addition to your curriculum; you helped me return a favour. If anything, you should be proud of yourself. Yet you sulk, escape to your room, and refuse to see Kobei-san out. So answer me, what’s wrong?”

Yusuke stared into the depths of his cup. A number of things were wrong. He couldn’t stop his limbs from twitching, for one. He couldn’t make a fist with his painting hand, that’s how swollen and sore his fingers were. The dull throb in his neck and in his shoulders was driving him crazy. His lower back hurt like hell. There was a raw abrasion on his inner thigh, where the hemp rope was chafing mercilessly all evening. He had been hit, and gagged, even if there was no mentioning of it before. There had been no safeword or a sign he could make if he wanted to call to a halt.

He was left alone there. Tied up, blindfolded and gagged. Helpless, for half an hour.

He was barely fucking _seventeen_. 

“I am just really tired, sensei,” Yusuke lied smoothly. “I have a bad headache. I… don’t think I would be able to paint anything of merit as of today. Forgive me.” 

“Did something happen that I do not know of?” Madarame asked. “Did Kobei-san do something that made you uncomfortable?”

Again, Yusuke knew better than to tell the truth. This unexpected parental interest had an ulterior motive of checking Yusuke’s behaviour throughout the session.

“No, sensei.”

“Did somebody tell you something? Made a crude remark, called you names?” 

“No, sensei.”

“Were you talking with anyone while there? After all, this could be your go-to academy. Should you fail the entrance exams to the National, that is. You would do well to make some... friends.”

Yusuke’s face remained a well-trained mask. He knew he cannot breathe a word about his chance encounter with a kind stranger putting dangerous ideas into his head; he was practically positive Kobei-san did not know anything about it, but… this whole questioning was suspicious. 

“I didn’t really engage much in any conversations… just small talk, before the session started.” Yusuke said, daring to cast a glance at Madarame. In the dark room his eyes were pale, like a fish. He was watching him with a stern look on his face. 

Yusuke felt another sting of unease.

“I’m so sorry, sensei… it’s just I really do not feel so good. My… back is a little strained from the suspension. My arms feel very weak. But it’s nothing, I’ll feel better when I catch some sleep.”

He had to let Madarame in on something so that he would let him off the hook. He hoped this would be enough.

“Show me your hands,” Madarame ordered. Yusuke obediently put the tea aside and offered both his hands to Madarame, putting them palms up on his lap. He took his time inspecting the swollen, hot fingers, abrasions on his wrists from the ropes, clearly visible and reddish against his pale skin, even in the dark room lit only by the outside lamp and the orange stream of light coming from the open door. He moved a hand up Yusuke’s arm and squeezed his bicep, what elicited a hiss; there was a bloodshot bruise underneath. Finally Madarame put a hand to Yusuke’s forehead, checking his temperature. It was a little raised.

“I believe you are simply making a fuss,” he stated coldly. “But it was your first shibari session, so maybe you are entitled... to a little of a spoiled act. And since you don’t feel well, it’s not necessary to paint. In any case, you did good.” His old, wide, withered palm patted Yusuke’s folded hands. “Remember to put a decent long sleeve to school on Monday. People would not understand; seeing abrasions might provoke questions of uncomfortable nature, not to mention a visit at the principal. He could revoke your scholarship for this, minors are not allowed to do artistic collaborations of this sort. Besides, you don’t want to explain to your classmates how did you get these marks, now do you?” He chuckled. 

“No, sensei.” Yusuke swallowed.

“They could treat you with malice, as this was a great opportunity for you. Envy makes people do ugly things,” Madarame mused. “Anyway. About that course you mentioned… Still Life in Detail, first three weekends of July, do you remember?”

“Yes of course, sensei,” Yusuke’s eyes lifted immediately.

“Apparently the course was quite popular and there were no free spots anymore, but Kobei-san called his friend at the National and the man said one more pupil will not make such a big difference. He’s willing to make space for you, if you’re diligent.”

“Really?” Yusuke’s eyes lit up in happiness. “Does that mean I will be able to participate?”

“Yes, Yusuke. You have to make sure to work hard there, though,” Madarame smiled surprisingly kindly. “I’m counting on you not to let me down!”

“But… the participation fee…?” Yusuke asked.

“Kobei-san got it covered. I told you, he’s quite pleased with you.” 

Madarame made to get up; thanks to this, he missed Yusuke’s mortified expression. Suddenly the painful weight returned tenfold on the boy’s limbs, shoulders and spine, pulling at his neck and heavying his arms down, as if it was a palpable, crude yoke thrust down upon him like on a mule or another farm animal, put to work to earn the living.

“Drink your tea, Yusuke. And then catch some sleep. I understand it was challenging and maybe you’re a little sore, but you have to build up some resistance to it; true art is inseparable from suffering, and it is a valuable lesson you can derive from today. Oh, when I was your age, we used to model in far worse conditions…” Madarame’s voice turned distant, slightly dreamy. “What wouldn’t I do to have a young, resilient body again. Now it’s only aches and pains and bad blood test results, these days.”

Yusuke’s head whipped up and he searched the eyes of his sensei; he moved on the futon as if he wanted to get up, alarmed, afraid.

“Bad blood test results?” he asked. “How come?”

“Oh, it’s nothing, my dear boy. Seems like my cholesterol is a bit high, my heart is not what it used to be… and some other things I didn’t quite catch. It doesn’t matter, I will go to doctor Tanaka next week.”

If that was even possible, Yusuke went even more pale. There was a massive wave of guilt washing over him; here he was, sitting in his bed, sulking and feeling sorry for himself, and sensei was going through a real thing, a real health condition, while Yusuke hadn’t even realized his sensei went to the doctor’s for a blood test.  
  
“Don’t think of it now, Yusuke. Get some rest. And allow yourself to be proud; you enabled many students of art to improve their work, and spring forth new ideas. New beauty.”

“...Y-yes, sensei.” Yusuke choked out.

“Don’t worry. Next time will be easier.” Madarame chuckled and stepped out of the room. “Goodnight, Yusuke.”

The door slid shut.

In the deafening silence that fell, Yusuke didn’t find enough strength to ask himself why the thought had not crossed his mind earlier. The course at the National was costly. Of course he would have to work for it more than once. Of course he would have to strip for that man and endure his inconsiderate hands on his body all over again. Of course there will be more disregard for his boundaries, more pain, more things that won’t be said clearly, because he was, indeed, still underage and in the end he will do as he is told. 

He was all bitter about it, but deep, deep down Yusuke couldn’t bring himself to care enough to rebel against it. It was what it was; just another inconvenience which he will swallow and endure in the name of helping his sensei, especially now, that he knew there were some health issues on the horizon and possible medical expenses to cover. 

He couldn’t possibly ask his sensei to break the bank for him and follow with his whim for a outside-curriculum workshop just because he fancied it. Even if it would mean more practical knowledge, some recognition and more experience which would prove useful during the entrance exams. No; Madarame has been paying for his life expenses, medical bills, school fees and general well-being all his life. Now, in a continuous slump, the income was scarce. Yusuke understood the toll it must have taken on his elderly sensei. If he could get that course from Kobei, he would; if he had to forego the course and still work for Kobei to get money for sensei’s hospitalization, he would.

It was just one of those things he had to do.

Yusuke took one more sip of the tea, but felt too exhausted to sit upright any further. He set the cup aside and buried himself deeper in the covers; his hurting back only allowed him to lay flat, so that’s what he did, staring at the crumbling ceiling or the wall with a diagonal streak of lamplight. 

He sighed heavily. 

He still could not sleep. 

He reached for his phone. He didn’t want to make any sound, so he dug out his earphones from a small pocket in his bag and put them on, then plugged them to the phone. He typed in ‘Frank Sinatra’ and ‘That’s life’ into the search bar; he pressed play and set the song on a loop. 

A gentle, yet upbeat melody and an unmistakable voice cradled him in a small bubble, toning down the buzz of agitated thoughts in his head. Yusuke willed to focus on the masculine, mischievous but surprisingly elegant voice of the singer, on the instruments joining in one by one into a practised, yet seemingly casual poliphony. A retro classic, indeed. The song seemed almost… sunny, with all its delicate humour, punctuating beats of percussion and laid-back female voice choirs in the background. Yusuke couldn’t explain it; he imagined a man walking through golden summer.

 _Hang in there. I’ll come find you._

Please do. Come find me. Meet me again… meet me in a park. On the riverbank. In sunlight.

Yusuke closed his eyes. With the song deafening out the ache in his muscles and joints and the yellowish imagery of sun-streaked park behind his eyelids, his brain switched on another wavelength and soon he felt the slow, hesitant pull of sleep coming.

Yes. 

Please.

_Hang in there._

I’ll try, Yusuke thought; I’ll hold on. 

That was his last conscious thought before slipping into dreamy oblivion.

**~*~**

In another bedroom, another district a bit further away in Yongen-Jaya, another boy was listening to the same melody laying in his bed in the dusty attic. A small black cat was sleeping curled in a ball on his legs, a furry ear twitching from time to time at the beat of the quiet song.

Ren couldn’t sleep. He lazily rubbed at his itchy eye, and let his hand dangle from the edge of the bed; his fingers met the fabric of his black jacket, which was hanging on the back of the chair.

The jacket smelled faintly of Yusuke.


End file.
